And all my fortunes at thy foot I’ll lay,
And follow thee my lord throughout the world.
Nurse. [Within.] Madam!
Jul. I come, anon. — But if thou mean’st not well,
I do beseech thee, — 160
Nurse. [Within.] Madam!
Jul. By and by; I come: —
To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:
To-morrow will I send.
Rom. So thrive my soul, — 165
Jul. A thousand times good-night! [Exit above.
Rom. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.
Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books;
But love from love, toward school with heavy looks. [Retiring.
Re-enter JULIET, above. 170
Jul. Hist! Romeo, hist! O! for a falconer’s voice,
To lure this tassel-gentle back again.
Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud,
Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,
And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine, 175
With repetition of my Romeo’s name.
Rom. It is my soul that calls upon my name:
How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night,
Like softest music to attending ears!
Jul. Romeo! 180
Rom. My dear!
Jul. At what o’clock to-morrow
Shall I send to thee?
Rom. At the hour of nine.
Jul. I will not fail; ’tis twenty years till then. 185
I have forgot why I did call thee back.
Rom. Let me stand here till thou remember it.
Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Remembering how I love thy company.
Rom. And I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget, 190
Forgetting any other home but this.
Jul. ’Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone;
And yet no further than a wanton’s bird,
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, 195
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
Rom. I would I were thy bird.
Jul. Sweet, so would I:
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. 200
Good-night, good-night! parting is such sweet sorrow
That I shall say good-night till it be morrow. [Exit.
Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
Hence will I to my ghostly father’s cell, 205
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit.
Act II. Scene III.
The Same. FRIAR LAURENCE’S Cell.
Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket.
Fri. L. The grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night,
Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light,
And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels 5
From forth day’s path and Titan’s fiery wheels:
Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye
The day to cheer and night’s dank dew to dry,
I must up-fill this osier cage of ours
With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. 10
The earth that’s nature’s mother is her tomb;
What is her burying grave that is her womb,
And from her womb children of divers kind
We sucking on her natural bosom find,
Many for many virtues excellent, 15
None but for some, and yet all different.
O! mickle is the powerful grace that lies
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live
But to the earth some special good doth give, 20
Nor aught so good but strain’d from that fair use
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied,
And vice sometime’s by action dignified.
Within the infant rind of this weak flower 25
Poison hath residence and medicine power:
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Two such opposed foes encamp them still
In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will; 30
And where the worser is predominant,
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.
Enter ROMEO.
Rom. Good morrow, father!
Fri. L. Benedicite! 35
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
Young son, it argues a distemper’d head
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed:
Care keeps his watch in every old man’s eye,
And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; 40
But where unbruised youth with unstuff’d brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign:
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure
Thou art up-rous’d by some distemperature;
Or if not so, then here I hit it right, 45
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.
Rom. That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.
Fri. L. God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline?
Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no;
I have forgot that name, and that name’s woe. 50
Fri. L That’s my good son: but where hast thou been, then?
Rom. I’ll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again.
I have been feasting with mine enemy,
Where on a sudden one hath wounded me,
That’s by me wounded: both our remedies 55
Within thy help and holy physic lies:
I bear no hatred, blessed man; for, lo!
My intercession likewise steads my foe.
Fri. L. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. 60
Rom. Then plainly know my heart’s dear love is set
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet:
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;
And all combin’d, save what thou must combine
By holy marriage: when and where and how 65
We met we woo’d and made exchange of vow,
I’ll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us to-day.
Fri. L. Holy Saint Francis! what a change is here;
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, 70
So soon forsaken? young men’s love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jesu Maria! what a deal of brine
Hath wash’d thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline;
How much salt water thrown away in waste, 75
To season love, that of it doth not taste!
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears;
Lo! here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not wash’d off yet. 80
If e’er thou wast thyself and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline:
And art thou chang’d? pronounce this sentence then:
Women may fall, when there’s no strength in men.
Rom. Thou chidd’st me oft for loving Rosaline. 85
Fri. L. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
Rom. And bad’st me bury love.
Fri. L. Not in a grave,
To lay one in, another out to have.
Rom. I pray thee, chide not; she, whom I love now 90
Doth grace for grace and love for love allow;
The other did not so.
Fri. L. O! she knew well
Thy love did read by rote an
d could not spell.
But come, young waverer, come, go with me, 95
In one respect I’ll thy assistant be;
For this alliance may so happy prove,
To turn your households’ rancour to pure love.
Rom. O! let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
Fri. L. Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast. [Exeunt. 100
Act II. Scene IV.
The Same. A Street.
Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO.
Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be?
Came he not home to-night?
Ben. Not to his father’s; I spoke with his man. 5
Mer. Why that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline,
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.
Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to his father’s house.
Mer. A challenge, on my life. 10
Ben. Romeo will answer it.
Mer. Any man that can write may answer a letter.
Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter’s master, how he dares, being dared.
Mer. Alas! poor Romeo, he is already dead; stabbed with a white wench’s black eye; shot through the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy’s butt-shaft; and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?
Ben. Why, what is Tybalt? 15
Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O! he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom; the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause. Ah! the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hay!
Ben. The what?
Mer. The pox of such antick, lisping, affecting fantasticoes, these new tuners of accents!— ‘By Jesu, a very good blade! — a very tall man! a very good whore.’ — Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardonnez-mois, who stand so much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their bons, their bons!
Enter ROMEO.
Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. 20
Mer. Without his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rime her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe, a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! there’s a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.
Rom. Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?
Mer. The slip, sir, the slip; can you not conceive?
Rom Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.
Mer. That’s as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. 25
Rom. Meaning — to curtsy.
Mer. Thou hast most kindly hit it.
Rom. A most courteous exposition.
Mer. Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.
Rom. Pink for flower. 30
Mer. Right.
Rom. Why, then, is my pump well flowered.
Mer. Well said; follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out the pump, that, when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular.
Rom. O single-soled jest! solely singular for the singleness.
Mer. Come between us, good Benvolio; my wit faints. 35
Rom. Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I’ll cry a match.
Mer. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five. Was I with you there for the goose?
Rom. Thou wast never with me for anything when thou wast not here for the goose.
Mer. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Rom. Nay, good goose, bite not. 40
Mer. Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.
Rom. And is it not then well served in to a sweet goose?
Mer. O! here’s a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad.
Rom. I stretch it out for that word ‘broad;’ which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide broad goose.
Mer. Why, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. 45
Ben. Stop there, stop there.
Mer. Thou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair.
Ben. Thou wouldst else have made thy tale large.
Mer. O! thou art deceived; I would have made it short; for I was come to the whole depth of my tale, and meant indeed to occupy the argument no longer.
Rom. Here’s goodly gear! 50
Enter Nurse and PETER.
Mer. A sail, a sail!
Ben. Two, two; a shirt and a smock.
Nurse. Peter!
Peter. Anon! 55
Nurse. My fan, Peter.
Mer. Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan’s the fairer face.
Nurse. God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
Mer. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman.
Nurse. Is it good den? 60
Mer. ’Tis no less, I tell you; for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon.
Nurse. Out upon you! what a man are you!
Rom. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar.
Nurse. By my troth, it is well said; ‘for himself to mar,’ quoth a’? — Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo?
Rom. I can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. 65
Nurse. You say well.
Mer. Yea! is the worst well? very well took, i’ faith; wisely, wisely.
Nurse. If you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you.
Ben. She will indite him to some supper.
Mer. A bawd, a bawd, a bawd! So ho! 70
Rom. What hast thou found?
Mer. No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. [Sings.
An old hare hoar, and an old hare hoar,
Is very good meat in Lent:
But a hare that is hoar, is too much for a score,
When it hoars ere it be spent.
Romeo, will you come to your father’s? we’ll to dinner thither.
Rom. I will follow you.
Mer. Farewell, ancient lady; farewell,
Lady, lady, lady.
[Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO. 75
Nurse. Marry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery?
Rom. A gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month.
Nurse. An a’ speak anything against me, I’ll take him down, an a’ were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I’ll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skeins-mates. [To PETER.] And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure!
Pet. I saw no man use you at his pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you. I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side.
Nurse. Now, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word; and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bid me say I will keep to myself; but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool’s paradise, as
they say, it were a very gross kind of behaviour, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. 80
Rom. Nurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee, —
Nurse. Good heart! and, i’ faith, I will tell her as much. Lord, Lord! she will be a joyful woman.
Rom. What wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me.
Nurse. I will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer.
Rom. Bid her devise 85
Some means to come to shrift this afternoon;
And there she shall at Friar Laurence’ cell,
Be shriv’d and married. Here is for thy pains.
Nurse. No, truly, sir; not a penny.
Rom. Go to; I say, you shall. 90
Nurse. This afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there.
Rom. And stay, good nurse; behind the abbey wall:
Within this hour my man shall be with thee,
And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair;
Which to the high top-gallant of my joy 95
Must be my convoy in the secret night.
Farewell! Be trusty, and I’ll quit thy pains.
Farewell! Commend me to thy mistress.
Nurse. Now God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir.
Rom. What sayst thou, my dear nurse? 100
Nurse. Is your man secret? Did you ne’er hear say,
Two may keep counsel, putting one away?
Rom. I warrant thee my man’s as true as steel.
Nurse. Well, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady — Lord, Lord! — when ’twas a little prating thing, — O! there’s a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I’ll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?
Rom. Ay, nurse: what of that? both with an R. 105
Nurse. Ah! mocker; that’s the dog’s name. R is for the — No; I know it begins with some other letter: and she had the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it.
Rom. Commend me to thy lady.
Nurse. Ay, a thousand times. [Exit ROMEO.] Peter!
Pet. Anon!
Nurse. Before, and apace. [Exeunt. 110
Act II. Scene V.
The Same. CAPULET’S Garden.
Enter JULIET.
Jul. The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse;
Masters of the Theatre Page 29